“If we go to the penthouse,” she began slowly, “what exactly will we do?”
A carnal gleam lit his eyes. His voice lowered to a husky pitch as he said, “Well, I noticed there’s a removable showerhead in the master bathroom.”
She burst out laughing. “Do you make it a habit of scoping out the shower when you use other people’s bathrooms?”
“Who doesn’t?”
TWENTY
BRODY: Can’t wait to see you tonight.
A warm flush spread across Hayden’s cheeks as she read Brody’s message. She was glad she was alone so nobody could see how hard she was blushing. Although when her dad said he’d send a car to drive her to the charity event, she thought he meant a regular car. Instead, she was sitting in a limousine by herself. Which was a little much, but not a surprise. And it gave her all the privacy she needed to text with Brody, as she’d been doing for the past five days.
He’d left for Colorado the morning after the Gallagher party and had been there all week, so tonight would be her first opportunity to see him again. She couldn’t wait, either. She just wished it didn’t have to be at another one of her dad’s stuffy team events.
HAYDEN: Don’t forget—we’re not supposed to know each other.
HAYDEN: But me too.
Three dots appeared to indicate he was typing again.
BRODY: I missed you.
Don’t say it back, a stern voice ordered.
Right. Saying it back was not a wise move. This was a fling. You weren’t supposed to be missing your fling partner as much as she’d missed Brody this week.
HAYDEN: Missed you too.
Oh, God. This was bad. She needed to get herself in check before she got too attached to the man.
The limo came to a stop, but rather than get out, she quickly gave her appearance one last look in the lighted mirror. Her crimson lipstick was the perfect dash of color against her curve-hugging black gown.
“We’ve reached our destination, ma’am,” the driver announced, and a moment later he was opening the door for her.
She stepped out, gazing at the beautiful venue with its marble columns lining the front entrance. Wow. She didn’t know if she’d ever seen so many giant windows on a building, and her artistic eye instantly recognized the way the light inside the windows illuminated the smooth white exterior. For the first time in a long time, she felt the urge to paint. It startled her.
A woman in a navy pantsuit greeted Hayden when she walked into the entryway. She hadn’t brought a coat, so there was nothing to check, and the woman directed her toward an enormous arched doorway across the lavish lobby.
Hayden adjusted her evening gown as she entered the grand ballroom where the charity gala was being held. The room buzzed with conversations and the clinking of glasses, and she could feel the weight of the evening ahead as she made her way through the sea of people. She was painfully aware of the scrutinizing gazes that followed her every move. As the daughter of the team owner, she was always under the watchful eyes of the public whenever she attended these events.
God, she was so sick of this shit. If she’d known how this extended visit would turn out, she would’ve just agreed to teach that summer course on the Impressionists. In the three weeks she’d been in Chicago, she’d barely seen her father. Unless it was time for another fancy party—then he was suddenly more than eager for her company.
“Sweetheart!”
Her father stood near the bar with a group of his colleagues, his face lighting up at the sight of her.
She couldn’t help wondering if he was faking that happy expression. God knew he hadn’t been happy to see her last week at the Gallagher Club. She’d tried making plans with him since then, but he’d canceled both their scheduled lunches, claiming to be too busy with the playoffs.
The more time that passed, the less optimistic she was about reconnecting with the father she’d once adored.
She took a deep breath and approached him, a forced smile on her face. “Hi, Dad,” she greeted him, attempting to sound casual.
“Ah, Hayden! Perfect timing. Let me introduce you to Rita,” he said, gesturing to one of the women in the small group. “Rita is the chair of the foundation we’re raising money for tonight.”
After seven years of being a team owner’s daughter, Hayden had perfected the art of small talk. For the next twenty minutes, she exchanged pleasantries and engaged in bland conversation, all the while fidgeting with the stem of her champagne glass and stealing glances at her father, who seemed more concerned with his colleagues than with her presence.
She was chatting with Stan Gray, the Warriors’ head coach, when the room’s atmosphere shifted subtly. Maybe it was the murmurs from another group to their right, consisting of several women in their twenties, but Hayden found herself glancing toward the arched entrance.
Sure enough, Brody had just entered.
His presence was magnetic. And his sharp gray suit accentuated every hard line of his tall, broad body. He stood several inches taller than all the men in his vicinity. His head shifted as he scanned the room. Hayden’s heart skipped a beat when their eyes met.
“Ah,” her father said, noticing Brody’s arrival. “There’s Croft and Jones.” He raised his hand to wave them over.
A moment later, Brody was in front of her. His blue eyes once again met hers, a mischievous twinkle hidden in their depths.
“Hayden, right?” he said easily.
She nodded. “Yup. And you’re... Brady?”
“Brody,” he corrected, his lips twitching with humor. “It’s good to see you again.”
Brody’s teammate, who introduced himself as Derek Jones, kept stealing looks at Hayden, his gaze dipping to her cleavage. “You’re Mr. Houston’s daughter?” he said.
“I am. And you’re a rookie this season?”
“Sure am. And killing it.” Jones’s boyish smile triggered a smile of her own.
